Letter to my dear husband (the one you'll never read)
Dear Marty,
We've been together now for just over seven years, and there is something I feel I need to mention. I know that I don't keep things as clean or organized as you'd like. But here's what I want you to know - I've improved so much in this area since we've been together that I'm surprised I haven't received some kind of award, or kudos in the newspaper, maybe even a "the things you do for love" segment on Oprah. Even though I've improved greatly in all these areas (any one of my roommates or family members can attest to this), what is most apparent to me is that you must love me very much. I know these things must grate your nerves to the core, but you hold yourself back very well. But now I think it's time for me to admit a few things to you. Maybe they'll help you understand just how far we've come.
When you tease me for leaving a bag packed on the floor of our room for two weeks after returning from a trip, just so you know, that's a big improvement. When I moved away from home after graduating from high school, my mom found my backpack from Third Grade still packed on the floor of my closet. I must have gotten a new backpack for Fourth Grade, and since I didn't need the old one, why unpack it? It was probably just filled with the crap that had been lying on the bottom of my school locker floor for the whole year anyway.
When you come home and look in horror at the floor that I've cleaned up four times already that day, know that before we started dating I didn't even have my own vacuum cleaner. And I had my own apartment. With carpet.
When you open my closet door and note that the shoe organizer you bought for me is empty and all my shoes are piled on top of some sweaters and bags, know that if it had been years earlier when you opened the closet door you would have been crushed by piles of clothes coming down on you like a cotton/poly blend avalanche.
When you clean out my car each time you are in it, know that before we started dating the only negotiating I did on the purchase of my first new car was to get the salesman to agree to help me transfer the loot from the trunk of my old car to the trunk of my new one.
And, if you ever need it, there is solid proof for you just how much I love you. Look under our bed. There is not one single thing under there, and that's such a miracle you may be able to hear archangels sing when you lift up the bedskirt.
Love,
Jennie
We've been together now for just over seven years, and there is something I feel I need to mention. I know that I don't keep things as clean or organized as you'd like. But here's what I want you to know - I've improved so much in this area since we've been together that I'm surprised I haven't received some kind of award, or kudos in the newspaper, maybe even a "the things you do for love" segment on Oprah. Even though I've improved greatly in all these areas (any one of my roommates or family members can attest to this), what is most apparent to me is that you must love me very much. I know these things must grate your nerves to the core, but you hold yourself back very well. But now I think it's time for me to admit a few things to you. Maybe they'll help you understand just how far we've come.
When you tease me for leaving a bag packed on the floor of our room for two weeks after returning from a trip, just so you know, that's a big improvement. When I moved away from home after graduating from high school, my mom found my backpack from Third Grade still packed on the floor of my closet. I must have gotten a new backpack for Fourth Grade, and since I didn't need the old one, why unpack it? It was probably just filled with the crap that had been lying on the bottom of my school locker floor for the whole year anyway.
When you come home and look in horror at the floor that I've cleaned up four times already that day, know that before we started dating I didn't even have my own vacuum cleaner. And I had my own apartment. With carpet.
When you open my closet door and note that the shoe organizer you bought for me is empty and all my shoes are piled on top of some sweaters and bags, know that if it had been years earlier when you opened the closet door you would have been crushed by piles of clothes coming down on you like a cotton/poly blend avalanche.
When you clean out my car each time you are in it, know that before we started dating the only negotiating I did on the purchase of my first new car was to get the salesman to agree to help me transfer the loot from the trunk of my old car to the trunk of my new one.
And, if you ever need it, there is solid proof for you just how much I love you. Look under our bed. There is not one single thing under there, and that's such a miracle you may be able to hear archangels sing when you lift up the bedskirt.
Love,
Jennie
Look Jane! Jennie is a slut too! (original definition intended) My friends all called Phil the Provider - not because he was the breadwinner, but because he came with a vacuum, a sewing machine, and did all the cooking and laundry because I either didn't do it at all or did it wrong.
We have worked though most of the punch list requirements to mold me away from my natural slovenly behaviors, and we are down to the little stuff now. He mostly lets me cook, and I get to do all the cleaning, but he still doesn't entirely trust me with the laundry.
I, however, have not yet mastered the under bed breezeway, Jennie, so you are already way ahead of me. You go girl, Marty is lucky to have you.
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this "letter" reminded me of when we lived together and NEVER put away our clothes - dirty ones or clean ones. I remember that we would actually sleep in our beds (right next to each other) and that had piles of clothes on the sides against the wall. And I never minded one little bit.
Thinking about it now starts to give me the hives - but the only thing I'd do differently now was fold both of our clothes if you let me. This story also reminded me of your alarm clocks...the enforcer specifically...but that may be another entry.
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